


Breaking Glass

by orphan_account



Category: Free!
Genre: Angst, Comfort fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-10
Updated: 2014-03-10
Packaged: 2018-01-15 05:51:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1293685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It feels like your life has sometimes been a series of fractures running through what should be smooth, clear glass."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breaking Glass

It feels like your life has sometimes been a series of fractures running through what should be smooth, clear glass. Everything you wanted to do was a smooth pane and your inabilities shattered it piece by piece, your anger, every word you threw at your friends as if hurting them could make you feel more like a human being and less like a failure. Sometimes you think you can hear the crack of it under your feet when you’re walking, feel the grind of shards pressing together in your chest when you breathe too deeply; you reach out your arms in the water and half expect your fingers to come back bloody from sharp edges.

You’re angry and screaming, at anyone, at the ones who deserve it least, because you can’t stop the terrifying feeling that you can’t do anything right anyways, so break it more, break it all; take away all the excuses you have to keep hoping for anything better. You’re breaking, and you have been for years, and the last pieces are finally falling to the ground now. As you stand in front of the kindest of your friends and tear at him with your words, your fists. Anything that will convince him to get the fuck away from you before you break him, too, break him all the way to the bone and ruin one more precious thing you never should have touched.

You don’t realize you’re crying, not really, even as you’re choking on the wet of it, but no matter how you scream and gouge at him, the massive hands are gentle on your face, your shoulders, so fucking gentle before you’re folded up in his arms, contained, held so tightly that even the fracture bits of you cannot grind together anymore. It’s then that you wonder if you ever really understood how big he is before this, the way that you’re wrapped up completely, pinned down and trapped.

Safe, perhaps for the first time since your father died and left an Olympic-sized hole in the middle of your heart. It’s almost like the sky has fallen down to wrap around you, except he’s so warm, so solid, so real against you; a heart beating against yours. Steady, sure, unyielding as yours cracks and bangs and falters under your rib cage, pushed up close to his.

You’re breaking apart but he’s holding you together, and none of the wounds you’ve inflicted have pushed him away, and just this once, maybe, you can let yourself fall weak-kneed into the support of his grip and break all the rest of the way.

~

He’s never faltered, even when you did, even when everyone around him was falling apart and holding on to him for support. He’s never hesitated to shoulder any number of burdens and he did it with a goddamn smile, like everything was perfectly fine, like he wouldn’t have it any other way. He was always so gentle, too much so for that big body, but maybe he grew that big so his shoulders would have room to hold everything up that you all needed him to carry. 

He’s never hesitated, even when you can see the exhaustion in his eyes, as he stands up straight and supports the people he loves. He’s an older brother, a friend, a constant that makes it easier to take the next breath; even if hurts, you can turn and catch his eye, and then that breath goes down a little easier than the last one. He’s always, enduringly, unhesitatingly there for everyone. So much that sometimes you forget he’s very, very breakable himself.

Something in your mind told you to go there, when you couldn’t find him in his room or by the small grave in the backyard. It’s an anniversary and Makoto has always kept up with those, better than you did anyway. So you walk to the beach, even though it’s cold, even though it’s dark, because you know he’ll be there; and he is, a sentinel against the waves, standing tall and strong and sure to anyone who doesn’t know him, who can’t read the little flinches in his hands and his breathing every time a wave comes in hard and hits the sand.

You don’t think you’ve ever been particularly good at comforting anyone, but anything is better than watching him stand there and torture himself, green eyes blank as they stare out at the ocean.

It’s ironic when some people might argue that you lost more than he did to the same storm, but this is one of the few things you’ll never think of as a competition. It’s easier to press close and set your chin on one of those wide, solid shoulders; to feel it jerk under you as you slip your arms around him.

Solid muscle, bigger than you, but his spine curves and you don’t think he’s ever felt this small up against you. There’s something fragile in the bones against your chest, the shudder of his breathing as he turns and tries to smile at you; green eyes fractured and bruised in the ways that you never wanted to see. Don’t pretend, you want to tell him, don’t act like you’re fine. Don’t comfort me. Just breathe.

And maybe he can hear you, or maybe he’s just too tired to hold himself up anymore, because those long legs buckle just a bit, a little weight sinking against your chest, letting you hold him up, for once, instead of trying to hold up everyone else.


End file.
